Crash Landing

Crash Landing

Ra rises, as I've crashed landed amid the rapidly diminishing display of slumber-lights, this onward rush of daylight, barely missing a lumbering lunar orb on my downward path. Minutes are fleeing the scene before a conscious thought, bounced across neural synapses, manages to lift me from my rattled stupor accompanied by a concussed impact. "OOh gggaw. Uh, geeeee...," forcibly heaves up from a clenched gullet, and drags itself across my tongue into the steaming ozone layer of space engulfing a throbbing pate. Lazy lids seem seamed together in rebellious deference to cerebral alerts for assessment of damages joined by conspiring defiance by musculoskeletal remains feigning paralysis. Another lapse of measured moments, and the first revelations of perception enter as topsy-turvy images cast on retinal walls, vaguely interpreted by dizzied cells attempting to create a translation and elicit a reaction from this grounded lump. Resistance is the first to retort, aiding unresponsive limbs, but something resembling reason demands more. Inner mechanics engage sore movement, elevating the flesh above the collision site, as trembling rocks the two larger extremities I rely upon for upright support. Collapse threatens, unless latent reserves are mustered to the front. Adrenal, bugle calls marshal just enough reinforcement to maintain an upward line. What was first perceived as twinkling darkness reveals itself now in a dusky veil rippling about me and lifting edges, where something likened to iridescent hued blobs blink on... and... off. Leaving the temptation of confined definition, I wander in and out of the dance as both partner and voyeur. The flash of experience that may have preceded this ballet of awareness no longer exists. Derision, calamity, aching cries swirling into anonymity, are replaced by strengthening clarity, as lithesome tingles emanate from my center. At last erect, and clinging to a fragile steadiness, awareness tweaks forth an idea, a concept of something familiar...M...O...R...N...I...N...G, symbolic notations, a perception of this moment. Mor...n...ing? Morn...ing! Mourning and elation push my mass forward, competing for their place. Now, an eagerness for relief of a bursting at my groin fights with the reluctance of fatigued tissues. The rising pressure wins and pushes my body more quickly towards a shining receptacle, hidden within a sacred shrine of cleansing and elimination. It is the latter ritual which draws me in; which I enter into with practiced familiarity. Relief tingles up my spine and shivers through my limbs as I leave the last drops of collected waters in the urn. And so my experience continues through a haze of domestic rituals: cleansing, costuming, feasting, and cleansing some more. The magic ultimately brings a lucidity that fills the upper sphere and determination leads me to the moment of emergence from my cocoon-like domicile, a safe-hold to which I will later return. When the radiant beams of Ra lapse into their resting, I will return to another set of rites and struggles that will eventually thrust me into the realms of slumber from which I have recently emerged unharmed and now aware.

POST MENOPAUSAL SO “OUTTA MY WAY”

POST MENOPAUSAL SO “OUTTA MY WAY”  (after turning 50...)

I’ve finally entered that stage of my life when I’m too young to benefit from most senior discounts but old enough to say, “What the hell, get outta my way!” Yep, except for a few reminder hot flashes from time to time I’m free as a bird from all those monthly mood swings and the latter shivers, shakes and flashes of the dreaded menopause. Some might describe it as a bittersweet moment when you recognize that your body is more rapidly heading toward decay but without some of the mania and physical discomforts of functioning reproductive organs. Instead, I am looking at it as my emancipation. I’m taking this second half a century head on so watch out!
It wasn’t that long ago when I first noticed that the offspring I spawned had finally dissed the familial coup for more hip, contemporary gathering places. I recognize that the simple use of such words as “hip” already explains why they were forced to make such arrangements. In their defense I will say that they have humored me and the old man for some time, so I harbor no ill feelings about their decision. This is not such a magnanimous gesture as it may sound since, let’s see, I have a house all to myself, hot water every time I shower, food in the refrigerator and quiet moments when I really need that nap. Ok, so there’s that twinge of regret when I really need to impart my wisdom to someone, to show off how superbly cool I am to a captive audience and to be in a room with someone who can stand upright on two legs and amuse me by just being there. However, the morphed tadpoles do manage to wiggle back upstream often enough to help me get those pangs out of my system and I have finally drug myself out of the stupor to engage in the “Me” times that have been neatly folded and stored under piles of dust, bits and pieces of kid’s school projects and clothes that once fit me. All those pipe dreams and silly notions of a mom raising three kids are being sorted, categorized and slipped on for a fit. It’s like going through Grandma’s attic, quite literally, and uncovering a valuable heirloom. I’m not putting these away for safe keeping anymore. Out they come and outta my way is my call to arms.

There are dreams we have as children and dreams that come in adolescence but once the haze of youth begins to flatten out from the reality of life as an adult those dreams come less often and are more quickly dismissed or stored. It's not that there aren't hopes and desires for ourselves squeezing by the daily grind into both subconscious and conscious thought. It is more that such ideas and dreams rarely get the concerted effort of consideration and are more easily brushed aside or sent packing than in early years. The body is shot and I don't feel like doing all the gyrations that kept me fit in younger years. Darn it I want to wear PJs that let me fulfill my Mama Cass dreams and just be comfortable instead of trying to impress some imaginable world. But you know I will of course, struggle to keep some 'semblance of youth, try on a new look, venture outward from time to time and enjoy the fact that I don't have to.

Avon Blues

I come to cool and refresh my troubled spirit at the waters of a deep blue twilight sea.
Here, the meditative chant of surf upon sand draws me toward the One in whom I find peace and understanding. Here, my soul is immersed in azure hues lifting me up, renewed and strengthened in the knowledge that this blue horizon is simply the beginning of another.

Avon Rising

What is it about a sunlit horizon that speaks to our wandering souls...?

The realm of gods and astral beings

Drawn like a thirsting traveler I drink in the perpetually mutating sight and fill a need to connect beyond my small experience. For here, amidst the roiling mists of heaven, I rest my gaze and lose myself to the realm of gods and astral beings. In the billows and forms, I find inspiration flowing through and about me, brushing cool upon my cheek, stirring my spirit.

Lily droplets

I don't know what the connection is, but I cannot help but collect photos of water droplets strung along grass blades, deposited upon petals, and captured in webs. There is a strange fascination for me in the reflective beads of water that capture the suns light and bejewel nature's kingdom.

Meta Morph

Meta-woman emerges, grown within a cocoon of time, breaking free and dusting off the refuse of her self excavations. An oft censored voice unveiling, breaks through tradition, rises up toward heavens and brings forth fruits from her spirit, as she takes shape. A unique beauty of transitioning form, for some disturbing and for others inspiring, withstands the assault of a world unready for her metamorphosis.
(This sculpture initially blossomed as Woman's voice and made her debut at our first studio on Madison St. and then at the Lynchburg Fall Art Show in 2007. Now, she has been transformed and been recreated into Meta-morph and resides at our last studio, Light Wings Gallery.)

Found Object Art, encaustic, collage and acrylic

At the Art Show 2007 people were encouraged to engage with her....

Art reflects our passions and dreams. It is also a reflection of the community from which it emerges. I enjoy engaging the community in my work while using found or recycled items in an imaginative form.

For me this work reflects the integration of self and other, the paths we take, and connections made, broken, and re-connected. The experiences of our paths and others become part of who we are. Additionally, it represents the community that is alive in the person and art. I invite you to share yourself in the work by adding color through the wrap, flair through the baubles, or dreams written on the strips (hang or add into the wrap). Do not be afraid to touch or add more or less to the work – be yourself. I only ask that you be respectful of others and the work, but do not be afraid to touch or engage in the process.